Stand By Me
by ChemiToo
Summary: Another day, another boring conference. Sort of.


England sighed as he dove into his bourbon again, idly watching the other members of the World Conference glide across the polished oak dance floor. France had managed to get Austria away from Hungary to steal a dance, and looked positively giddy as he escorted him across the floor. Roderich, of course, looked less than enthused.

"Hey!" someone said suddenly, causing England to slosh his drink all over the bar.

"What do you want?" he growled as he glared up at America. As usual, he appeared completely unfazed by England's obvious irritation and threw him a dazzling smile.

"Geez, Arthur, you're such a grump," America teased as he tugged on England's shirtsleeve. England was about to berate him for calling him his human name at a public function when he was abruptly hoisted to his feet and dragged toward the dance floor.

"America, WHAT THE HELL are you doing?" he snapped, haphazardly grasping for his forgotten drink left behind at the bar.

"Getting you off your sorry ass and dancing," America said matter-of-factly as he grabbed England's hands. One was taken into his own, the other placed on America's shoulder. England snarled at him and tried to break free, only to be thwarted.

"Damn you and your bloody strength," England hissed as America cackled in triumph.

"Just relax," America advised as the music changed, "Oh man, this is a good one!"

"Terrific," England grumbled, fully expecting the room to fill with the sounds of a heavy bass and some incoherent rap verse or God forbid, _Country._ He was pleasantly surprised to have the rhythm of a soft drum and the lone tune of a cello meet his ears instead.

 _"When the night, has come, and the land is dark..."_

England tensed as America began gently leading, swaying them back and forth to the slow tempo and smiling at him. England harrumphed and turned away, accidentally locking eyes with bright blue ones. France wiggled an eyebrow at him and smirked, throwing him a thumbs up as he grabbed onto Roderich's wrist to keep him from darting away. England caught something in rather irritated-sounding Austrian amid the low murmurs of the dancers as he rolled his eyes, but couldn't make it out.

"Bloody git," England snapped as he looked away, turning from one pair of blue eyes to another. He jumped; America's expression was one he wasn't familiar with, and it startled him. Not pouting, or wearing an absurd smile. Just...strange. A gentle smile graced his face as he looked down at England, lips forming words in time with the surrounding music.

" So darlin', darlin', staaand...by me," he sang softly as he looked directly into England's eyes.

"...what are you doing?" England whispered, feeling slightly panicked. America's hands were warm, clasped around England's trembling hand and pressed against the small of his back, and since when had they gotten so _close_? England could feel Alfred's heat radiating off of him through his rather nice-fitting suit, smell that familiar cologne that fit him so well and was just so distinctly _him_ -

"Just singin'," America answered with an embarrassed laugh and a shrug, jostling England's hand a bit, "I-I just like this song, that's all. I'll stop if you want-"

"No!" England protested, quickly sliding his hand back into place on America's broad shoulder, "No, keep going-I don't mind at all,"

America blinked at him, smirked, and then _smiled_. Genuinely smiled, those dazzling pearly whites proudly displayed for England and for England alone. The realization startled him a bit, actually. The last person who had actually sung to England had been his brother, and that had been after he'd had far too much to drink and was acting stupid. Not to mention that he was tone-deaf. This, however, was an entirely new experience.

"N' darlin', darlin', staand...by me, ohhh staand, by me..." America sang quietly as England stared into those sky blue eyes, drowning in them as a smile crept over his own face and America led him in gentle spirals around the dance floor.

The song was over far too soon. The cello faded away, soon to be replaced by some other tune, and the thought depressed England more than he had thought possible.

"W-wait," he stammered as America began to move away. The other nation blinked at him, obviously surprised, "Ah...I mean, we can dance some more, if you'd like," England blurted, licking his lips nervously, "Ah, forget it," he conceded as he dropped his hands to his sides, reluctantly moving away from America, "Never mind,"

"What?" America asked with a studious frown, "Hey, if you wanna dance more, then-"

"No, no, don't worry about it," England insisted as he mentally cursed himself. He was a fool. And an _old_ fool, to boot. And old fools like nothing more than a good stiff drink to help glaze over the fact that they have just made complete arses of themselves, right? Right.

England made his way over toward the bar, leaning on it heavily and grunting "Scotch, neat," at the bartender. He was only mildly surprised when America trailed behind him.

"Hey, what's wrong?" he asked worriedly as he took a seat on the barstool next to England, "Did I say something wrong?" he paused, frowning, "Oh, it was my horrible singing, right?" he added flatly.

"No!" England insisted as he shook his head, "No, that's not it at all," he promised, nodding at the bartender as he placed his drink in front of him.

"Then...what?" America pried as he ordered a drink for himself. England smirked, cocking an eyebrow at him.

"What?" America demanded, frowning.

"My, how refined we are tonight," England teased, "'Mint julep,' eh? Didn't think you even knew what those were,"

"Whatever, douchebag," America huffed through a smirk. There was a moment of silence between the two of them, broken only by the sounds of the next song floating past.

"But...for real, though," America pressed as he received his drink, "If I did something wrong..."

"You didn't do anything wrong, Alfred," England reassured him as America's face split into a bright smile, "W-what?" England blurted, suddenly uneasy.

"You called me Alfred," America stated as his smile only broadened.

England clumsily took a long dreg from his glass, the burning down his throat the only distraction from the panic flooding his mind. He _had_? He never used human names at meetings-it was highly improper.

"Apologies, America," England responded mechanically.

"Why?" America asked.

"What do you mean 'why?'" England huffed, "It's RUDE to use those names at meetings, that's why," he added with a glare over the top of his glass.

"But...what if we _weren't_ at the meeting?" America asked with a sly grin.

England just blinked at him.

"Aw, come on-this is the most boring thing ever. I know you hate these meetings as much as I do," America insisted.

"America, these meetings are important in developing diplomatic solutions to-" England retorted as the younger country cut him off with a snort.

"Hey, if you were actually enjoying this stupid thing, you'd be out on the dance floor instead of crouched over the bar," America insisted. England opened his mouth to protest, but found himself lacking a retort.

"See?" America said victoriously as he jumped out of his seat and grabbed England by the elbow.

"Goddamn it, not AGAIN," England growled as his Scotch threatened to be dumped all over the place, "What now?" he demanded.

"Let's go for a walk," America suggested as he pulled on England's arm again, "C'mon,"

England paused, wanting to be angry, but finding the emotion oddly elusive.

"Fine," he conceded as America whooped excitedly, "But only AFTER I've finished my drink," he warned with a glare.

* * *

"Nice, isn't it?" America asked, puffing his chest out as the pair looked out onto the white sandy beach in front of their hotel. The sea was calm, sighing against the shore beneath the cloudless California night sky.

"Yes, quite," England agreed as he took a moment to close his eyes and take a deep breath of salt air. Without fail, the ocean was the one constant in his life, ebbing and flowing but never disappearing. Never...running away from him.

"This your first time out here?" America asked as England turned and nodded, "Wow, Arthur, you gotta come out to my neck of the woods more often. Hey, maybe we-"

"America," England cut him off, "What exactly is this all about?"

"Huh?" America blurted, dumbstruck.

"You heard me," England snapped, defenses up once again, "Asking me to dance, then going out for a stroll-what's going on?"

To his horror, America laughed. England's anxiety-riddled mind raced as he gauged his reaction. Oh, God, he was being made a fool of. America probably just felt bad for him or something, like he was a pitiful old man with no friends. Well...that wasn't all that far from the truth, actually. Had someone put him up to this? Probably France, that bloody imbecile-

"Man, Arthur, you are so freakin' _paranoid_ ," America laughed, shaking his head, "I didn't ask you to dance or go for a walk with me for any reason except I _wanted_ to,"

England just stared at him, green eyes narrowed in suspicion.

"I want to spend more time with you, dude," America shrugged, "That's all,"

England found himself unable to speak. Luckily, he didn't need to.

"That's okay, right?" America asked after a moment's pause.

England nodded stiffly, turning his red face back toward the ocean.

"Great," America sighed contently as he leaned on the railing next to him. England moved the slightest bit closer to him, a barely perceptible smile creeping over his face as he stared out into the waves.

* * *

Notes:

Guess I just felt like writing some sappy stuff.

Mint juleps are bourbon-based drinks with their origins in the southern United States, and of course the lovely song is "Stand By Me" by Ben E. King.


End file.
